Chelsea Fagan

“Don’t you know that [insert junk food here] is bad for you?”

We have all gone for that teased look to get some of that fantastic volume that everyone loves so much, only to realize it turns your entire head into a bird’s nest of knots and pain and struggle for the next several days.

There are few things more depressing than seeing an entire generation of men who have perhaps one suit at best, and break it out only for weddings, funerals, and any other Extra Special Event that calls for an ill-fitting black travesty out of the recesses of some nightmarish Men’s Warehouse Polyester Emporium.

If you don’t “get” avocados, it’s time for you to be pushed off a cliff of some kind, because you are wasting valuable oxygen that the rest of us could be using to more efficiently consume avocados.

Even if it is never fully verbalized, you can feel when you are the one who is going to be sniggered at. For some self-identified feminists, there is a clear definition of what women should be working towards. There is a kind of degradation that is to be avoided, whether that happens in the bank account or on the dance floor.

Though it comes as no surprise to nearly every woman on the planet that porn is not geared towards us whatsoever, it’s always nice to know that not just straight porn is as off-putting as it is unrealistic.

Bonus points if you actually use different voices/accents for the different people in the imaginary conversation. That is a prestigious level of shower insanity.

It is so much more simple to say, “Stop caring what a man thinks, ladies, you’re beautiful as you are,” than to address all of the myriad reasons why that likely doesn’t apply to her.

Soon, your honger — your hungry anger — will drive you to eat that Jumbo Slice and/or pack of nuggets as though it dishonored your family name and this is feudal China.

Wear as little as you want. Don’t worry about having the perfect beach body, as such as thing could never exist, and your body is just fine at the beach as it is.

6. If we don’t orgasm, it’s not to spite you.

Your crush can sense your increasingly-frenetic desperation, and now has gone from the “They’re a cool friend, but I’m just not really interested in being romantically involved” stage to the “I cannot be alone in the same room with them, they’re going to harvest a lock of my body hair for witchcraft” stage.

“Why don’t you just take an internship?”

Aside from the errant tour around the city pretending not to be disgusted when you touch poor people, your job duties generally include being fabulously wealthy, eating grapes while in a reclined position, drinking wine out of T-Pain-esque gobelets, and giving orders to handmaidens in saucy backless gowns.

It’s magical. You are radiating your usual stink lines of reservation and judgment, when all of a sudden someone even passingly mention something that sounds like a food, and you transformed into a beauty pageant contestant.

The Morning Commute Hottie is a quiet one, categorized only by his choice of newspaper for his daily read. Is he more of a Wall Street Journal bro, or a Village Voice stud? (Just kidding, no one with a job reads The Village Voice.)

People have cellulite, they have stretch marks, they have birthmarks, they have rolls and bumps and dimples and wrinkles. And those are all perfect bodies, because they do their job and work for us and let us cuddle with each other when we need to be held.

We often present the idea of relationships in terms of two halves coming together to make a whole. But I think a much more apt description would be a venn diagram: two complete circles overlapping and making something even more impressive in the middle.